


Skin Deep

by cnova



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Kinks of Knockturn Alley’s Devious & Diverse New Year, POV Draco Malfoy, Praise Kink, Tattoo Artist Hermione Granger, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, Tattooed Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29127555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cnova/pseuds/cnova
Summary: Sometimes, the only way out is through.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 43
Kudos: 124
Collections: A Devious & Diverse New Year





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [ADeviousDiverseNewYear](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ADeviousDiverseNewYear) collection. 



> This piece was written for _A Devious & Diverse New Years Fest_ hosted by Kinks of Knockturn Alley (18+) on Facebook. This fest required the use of a prompt, a kink (or more) of your choice, and the overall theme of Body Positivity. The prompt I chose was _“Knockturn Alley”_.

The first time Hermione Granger told me I was doing _such a good job_ , I thought she was patronising me. If only I knew then what the witch's affirmations would do to me.

It all started after the war, when everything around me continued to go to shit. Father was sentenced to an extended stay in Azkaban. Mother was suffering the consequences of living with the Dark Lord, and the subsequent fall from grace within the eyes of many old family friends. She shut herself up in our Chateaux in France, and honestly, I didn't know how long that would last.

This left me to bear the brunt of public scorn and manage the family's estate ages before I was prepared.

Pulling myself out of the ashes of the war had been no easy feat; admittedly, it was something that I was still struggling with five years later—until I met _her_.

I had been marked–no, _branded—_ by a megalomaniac. Torn to pieces by The Boy Who Lived. Endangered my peers that fateful night by letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts. There was more, of course, but that was the highlight reel that played in my subconscious.

Learning to live with the shame of my past sins was daunting.

I hated myself, I hated my body, and I hated the prospect of the future that had been expected of me since I was young.

In the wake of the war, there had been a real push to clean up the Wizarding World's seedier areas, with wide eyes on Knockturn Alley. At first, there was an uproar from the current purveyors, but they slowly shuttered or rebranded themselves in a new light as time went on. New shoppes and storefronts began to emerge with one, in particular, that piqued my curiosity.

A small otter swam back and forth through the name on the magical sign—Skin Deep—which only heightened my interest. I had always been fascinated by magical tattoos, and now that I had money to burn and scars to cover, I knew I had to check it out. It didn't hurt that I had heard rave reviews from my fellow Slytherins. To my dissatisfaction, the parchment on the door indicated that I must inquire via owl post for a consultation.

_A consultation._

Who did this person think they were?

* * *

_To Whom It May Concern,_

_I would like to schedule a consultation for a small, yet intricate piece on my forearm. You have come highly recommended by numerous friends, but other extenuating circumstances may make this an atypical design. Please let me know of your earliest availability and your willingness to work with me._

_I await your response._

_Draco Malfoy_

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_It would be my pleasure to schedule your consultation, and I have ideas as to the nature of your extenuating circumstances, but it is not my place to make assumptions. All consultations are to be held in strict confidence, and by showing up, you agree to this request. If you are amenable, please arrive at the shoppe, 10 am sharp on the 2nd of May, and we can discuss your ideas further._

_Sincerely,_

_Skin Deep Tattoo_

* * *

I should have known to expect the unexpected when the artist hadn't signed their name, but I thought it no different than the secrecy Knockturn was shrouded in before the war.

* * *

Preparing for my consultation was a bit harder than I'd anticipated. How do you balance the shame of the Dark Mark while still showing that you embrace your mistakes and are moving forward?

Tricky is what it is.

Pouring over the extensive section on flora in the Manor's Library, I had settled on a combination of Narcissus and Clematis amidst Lady Ferns to help overrun the darkness the mark exuded. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any issues adding to the brand; Merlin knows the Dark Lord might make the task difficult.

If this tattoo artist were all that I'd heard they were, it would be a non-issue. The idea of someone else bearing witness to the mistakes that I had made as an ill-informed child in such an intimate fashion was unsettling, but Mother always said— _the only way out is through, Draco_ —and this was no different.

From what I had heard from Theo and Pansy, this artist could take any idea and turn it into _more_. They were dedicated to their craft and brought a new and different spin to traditional magical tattooing. The confidentiality clause, in response to my consultation inquiry, made their secrecy more palatable.

I also hadn't been prepared for the deep hatred with myself—and the scars I was ladened with—to flare to life as I examined my Dark Mark more thoroughly. Many nights were lost to night terrors and reliving the darkest times in my life. But this— _this_ —was the first step towards acceptance and seeing myself in a new, less grim light.

* * *

The second of May had finally come, and as I approached _Skin Deep,_ I felt more and more insecure with both my body and my choices. Not only had I dragged myself through the muck to plan for this, but the artist must have been fucking with me to schedule the consultation on the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Nevertheless, I proceeded onward until I found myself under the curious sign above the shoppe door. Once I was close enough, I heard a distinct click, and the door swung open to reveal a thin, modern stairwell. _Curious_.

"Hel—"

Time froze, and I stopped dead in my tracks as I entered the foyer of the shoppe at the top of the steps.

None other than Hermione Granger was seated at a small desk overlooking the Alley.

_Hermione-fucking-Granger._

"Hello, Malfoy. Prompt as ever." She motioned to her left without looking over, and my eyes caught on the vibrant sleeve adorning her arm. "Please have a seat on the chaise, and we can discuss your vision for your artwork."

From what I could tell, Hermione Granger hadn't changed much since the last time I saw her. After the war, she hadn't basked in the limelight that shone on war heroes, unlike her former friend— _Weasley_. Not many knew what happened there, but rumour had it they were volatile in all the wrong ways. Ultimately, they had chosen to separate too late to salvage any vestiges of friendship that had once been there.

Taking the time to drink her in as I crossed the room to the chaise, I noticed that her hair was still as unruly as ever, fighting to free itself from the intricate plait. Her posture was still perfect, reminiscent of when I sat behind her in the Dungeons—even her quill was positioned just so. The faintest view of ink crept up her neck only to vanish from sight just as quickly.

Reaching my destination, I settled myself on the chaise with a false air of confidence, but it was necessary to quell how off-kilter I felt. Going into my satchel, I withdrew my parchment and readied myself to be shot down in person. There was no way that a war heroine would be interested in helping me overcome my issues.

Swotty as ever, she immediately reached over and plucked the parchments from my hands, examining my rough sketches with keen interest. I had been sure to include magical copies of the botanical features, and when she noticed, she furrowed her brow.

"Look, Granger. If you've no intention of helping me with this, please don't waste my time." I consciously withdrew my arm from its previous position as she scoffed in my direction.

"Malfoy." Her eyes narrowed with contempt, and I was prepared for a verbal lashing of a different sort. "Don't be absurd. If I weren't legitimately considering taking you on as a client, I would have said as much in my correspondence. Speaking of, I assume, by your presence here today, that you agree to keep the nature of our business dealings— _and my identity_ —quiet."

It hadn't gone unnoticed how she said the last bit—leaving no room for misinterpretation; it was more statement than inquiry. As I acknowledged her remark with a smirk and quick nod, the room briefly glowed, and I knew then that she had the space spelled to enact a binding oath at the client's confirmation.

"Very good, Malfoy. Now, onto the matter at hand." Granger shifted back into business mode, shuffling through the various parchments that I had placed on the small table with a much shrewder focus. "I see that you've come prepared for our discussion—I wouldn't have expected any less. Please remove your robes and roll up your sleeve."

We spent the better part of an hour in silence as she reviewed the sketches and compared my notes to those in a book she had retrieved from a bookshelf I hadn't noticed when I first entered the shoppe. Every so often, she would stare intently at my Dark Mark as though fitting pieces of a puzzle together in her mind.

Eventually, I felt the need to break the silence as her scrutiny, combined with feeling ill-prepared for her presence, placed my insecurities on high alert. Every time I tried to draw my arm back, she made a small noise to indicate her displeasure, and I immediately realised that I _wanted_ to please her.

"How long can you look at the same things, Granger? Are you ever going to inquire about what I'd like?"

What she said next threw me for a loop.

"Do you trust me?"

"Do I—"

"Don't play games, Malfoy. You heard me correctly the first time. Do you trust me?"

Quickly assessing the situation, it seemed that this was the make or break point of the consultation. After everything that had happened in our past, trust was not a commodity that I traded lightly.

As my mind continued to whir, I heard myself respond. "Of course."

She nodded and sucked the tip of her quill into her mouth before swishing her hand through the air and wandlessly making copies of my sketches. She muttered something under her breath while running her fingers slowly along the mark on my arm until she wrapped her small hand entirely around my wrist. As she traced the lines, a replica of the Dark Mark appeared on her parchment along with the curvatures of my limb on full display. Her touch was light, and I couldn't help but imagine how many others she'd stroked so casually.

After another extended period, wherein I watched as she flipped back and forth through her copy of Madge Birchwick's _Mystical Flora for Tinctures, Tonics and Potions_ , she began to etch out her take on my vision.

What had initially started as a simple Narcissus design, with Clematis and greenery around only the skull, soon grew into something much grander. It seemed as though she had picked up on my intentions to place my conscience on my sleeve, in the most literal of fashions.

Using the snake as her guide, she twisted rows of Foxgloves into a set of lungs that ran adjacent to the bottom half of my mark.

_Healing._

_Pain._

_Insincerity._

_Insecurity._

Last I had heard, Granger was no Legilimens, but it was as though she knew my motives for covering the mark, as though she could feel the depth of the hatred I reserved only for myself and etched it onto the parchment as if it was nothing.

Healing through pain.

Insincere actions to cover the insecurities that ran deep.

I watched as she furrowed her brow once more and tilted her head slightly to the side, deep in thought. After carefully examining her work thus far, she drew her lip between her teeth. I was taken aback when she began to add what looked like a King Protea to the mouth of the snake.

_Courage._

_Daring._

_Transformation._

"Granger, what—"

"You said you trusted me, Malfoy. Give me a few more minutes, and we can see what this will look like when the time comes for placement." She cut her chocolate eyes to meet mine over the parchment between us. Her gaze softened, and with a hint of a smirk on her lips, she added, "You've done a much better job with this process than I thought you would."

Her words sent an all too familiar jolt through my body, and it didn't help that I had already begun to examine Granger in a new light throughout the consultation. Clearing my throat—most certainly _not_ my mind—I shifted in my seat and waited for her to finish the final touches of her sketch.

Taking my hand in hers, she waved her free hand over the finished piece and then again over my forearm, twisting and turning it so that the drawing lined up perfectly.

The flowers surrounding the skull were intermixed while the ferns crossed behind the skull and came to two points on opposite sides. Upon closer inspection, the Foxgloves appeared to inflate and deflate in sync with my breathing pattern, and the flowers throughout slowly unfurled, bloomed, and closed once again.

"It seemed as though you had a specific vision, and though I may have… added some things, I hope these additions align with your end goal."

Growing up, Granger was nothing short of insufferable when it came to lessons and coursework. Here and now, though, she applied that same rigour to her craft, and it was anything but. It was apparent why she came so highly rated, even if no one could disclose her true identity to future clients.

"Your additions far exceeded my initial vision, honestly. I quite like it. Though, I must say that I was a bit shaken at the addition of the King Protea."

At that, her smirk widened as a mischievous look crossed her face. "I find it fitting if my understanding was correct. As I said in my correspondence, I do try my best not to make any assumptions. My last inquiry regarding the tattoo is if you intend it to be greyscale or colour? You have the perfect skin tone to contrast either."

"I thought colour would do. If I may ask, how did you find yourself in this line of work? I always envisioned you at the Ministry or working to save the underserved. Seeing you sitting up here almost put me in a state of shock." As if to prove my point, I let my eyes roam over the floral sleeve on her left arm, catching momentarily on the crude word I had once apologised for, still etched into her skin.

True to her house, she had positioned the word— _Mudblood_ —within the Sword of Gryffindor, and had vines with deep red Amaryllis creeping up the blade. If she noticed, she didn't mention it. I hadn't expected her to respond so I was shocked when she spoke.

"Growing up I always loved to draw as it was something that I was able to fully immerse myself in without too much thought. Even at Hogwarts, I was able to find time between lessons to take in the landscapes from the turrets or get lost in the finer details of the Common Room. My dad had a love of traditional tattoos and had quite a few too. They always fascinated me, and imagine my surprise upon entering the Magical community to find that tattooing was a sacred form of art. After what we went through as children, I just couldn't see myself working for an institution that was so easily corrupted. How would I ever know that my work was meaningful? Here, I'm able to do something that I love—something that I'm genuinely good at—while helping people cope with the traumas we all faced. Not every tattoo is that way, but I find ones like yours to be the most meaningful. What more can I ask for?"

"It seems as though you've found quite the niche for yourself here in Knockturn. And, it appears that you've been able to infuse a bit of your brilliance into your art. I'd never seen a tattoo in motion before your work began to adorn my friends' bodies. Caused quite the stir, if I'm not mistaken."

Her eyes glittered as she laughed, a full-bellied laugh, nothing like the reserved showings of the women that I grew up around. "Well, Malfoy. I think that's enough for today. How soon would you like to get started on this? I believe that it should take two to three sessions, depending on if there are any unexpected… _side effects_ associated with the selected location."

After confirming that I would be back next week, I gathered my items and began to head for the door. Looking back over my shoulder, I caught Granger giving me a once over, and I smirked when her eyes finally made their way back up.

"Don't look so smug, Draco. You know that you've always been easy on the eyes." Her smile held no shame. "Today was quite enjoyable. I look forward to seeing you next week."

The slip of my given name didn't go unnoticed by either of us, and with that, I made my way down the stairs and out into Knockturn Alley. It seemed as though I was one step further on the road to acceptance, and it only had a little bit to do with the confidence of the curly-haired witch watching me from her window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shoutouts to [Somandalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somandalicious/pseuds/Somandalicious) for the brilliant book name, [sportivetricks (tamlane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/pseuds/sportivetricks) for all her encouragement and helping me get inside Draco’s mind, and [dreamsofdramione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugggghead/pseuds/dreamsofdramione) for the banging beta and then some! The saying attributed to Narcissa, “the only way out is through” is originally from Robert Frost’s poem ‘A Servant to Servants”.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed <3


	2. Chapter 2

Moving through the next week was easier said than done. I was nervous for my first session with Granger, and I couldn't get the witch off my mind. She genuinely seemed passionate about her trade, and it only made me want her more.

When _that_ started, I'll never know.

I always knew that I had liked attention and the praise that came with it, but hearing the affirmation from her pretty mouth had unsettled me in the best way.

_Very good. Better job. Most meaningful._

I kept turning her words over in my head, anxiously anticipating what she might say next time.

* * *

Arriving at the shoppe in Knockturn Alley, I didn't know how to feel. Granger had taken my attempt at covering my scars and turned it into something I felt proud of. All it had taken was a few hours in her presence, a suggestion or two, and I was already viewing the tattoo and, by extension, myself in a new light.

As I reached the second floor, Granger was nowhere in sight. It seemed odd, as she knew when I was due to show up. Her absence allowed me to take the shoppe in a bit more completely.

The space was much larger than the narrow stairwell would lead someone to believe; the entry opened up into the sitting area I had occupied last week and a _workspace_ on the other side. The floor was a dark hardwood, accented with neat black rugs, and all of the other dressings were made of metal pipe. The decor made the shoppe feel inviting without impacting the needed sterility for the work done here. It didn't surprise me in the slightest that Granger would have such sharp taste and that she'd mix both Muggle and magical design concepts just as she had with her work.

One thing I hadn't noticed before was the tattoo chair for customers. It was a deep black that matched the chaise on the other side of the room with a small moving tray beside it. Again, I was unsettled at the thought of who may have occupied the chair before me.

It was as I began to take in the reading nook overlooking the alley where I had first found Granger that I heard a small lock click. A flustered Granger appeared from where the mantle had seemingly shifted to the side.

"Apologies for the delay, Draco. I hope I haven't kept you waiting long." Striding towards where I was hovering, she gestured to the chair. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I have everything all set for our session today."

At that, several vibrant vials appeared on the side table next to what looked like a mechanical quill. The nerves that I had somewhat tamed came roaring back to life.

"As you wish, Hermione." Smirk on full display, I moved to sit as requested and relished in the way her name rolled off my tongue.

"Now, this shouldn't be too unbearable. I've imbued the gun with a few charms that should help with reinking, pain management, and any other discomfort you may feel." She started opening and organising the aforementioned vials. "Do you have any last questions before we begin?"

Chuckling nervously, I asked, "You sure you've done this before?"

A smile broke across her face as she reached for my arm. "Nope, you're my first".

I wasn't sure what I'd done to deserve Granger's humour, but as she pulled out wax parchment with my design on it and began to place it, her easy banter lessened my anxiety. The process fascinated me, and I could see why this would appeal to her—collaborative freedom tucked neatly within the lens of routine.

As she made the last adjustment to the placement, she turned to me with a broad grin and began to quickly go through the colours she had selected. Not even the passing of time or a full-fledged war could sway Granger's ability to see the big picture, and ensure that everything was mapped out down to the smallest detail. Thorough as ever, the profession she found herself in was very fitting.

Once the ink had been transferred to my forearm, and she picked up the tattoo gun, I tensed. Surely this wouldn't hurt as bad as when I was Marked, right? In another move that lit me up, she reached over and, with a small smile, lightly squeezed my bicep, slowly working her way down to my wrist.

The act was so simple yet it sent chills through my body as she silently acknowledged my worry with her gesture and attempted to put me at ease. She murmured so lowly I almost didn't hear her when she said, "You're going to do just fine Draco. I know it for certain."

That was how it went for the next few hours. Granger would temper my reactions with small movements or words of praise that let me know how well I'd been doing as she worked around certain parts of the Dark Mark or more sensitive regions of flesh.

And _fuck me_ if it didn't turn me on as she looked up to examine me with her big brown eyes, ensuring that I was still comfortable, and inquiring from time to time about my overall well-being.

With every affirmation, the tension between us grew thicker. Granger _had_ to know what she was doing to me. I was at her mercy and flustered as ever.

Right when I didn't think I could take anymore, she announced that all of the linework was complete and we would be wrapping for the day.

"You've done so well today." She began to tend to the blood and smeared ink with a moist flannel. With a hint of a smirk, she added, "Much better than many of your friends that have come through my shoppe."

At that, I flushed, hoping she couldn't discern precisely how affected I was by her choice of words.

"This wasn't as bad as Pansy made it out to be. You aren't too bad at this, Granger." Raising my eyes to meet hers, I added, "I think I may just come back for the rest of these sessions."

With a chuckle, she bit her lip and she responded, "We've spent enough time together today, you might as well call me Hermione from here on out."

* * *

The first session bled into a second and then a third to touch everything up and ensure the linework was clean. Each meeting was filled with more praise than the last and as much as I wanted to believe that Hermione didn't know what she was doing, deep down I was certain she was onto me, and my newfound praise kink.

As we were wrapping up the last session, I couldn't help it when I all but spit out a request to join me for a drink later in the evening once she was closed for the day.

I could have sworn it wasn't only the lights playing tricks on me when she tinged pink from her cheeks to the enticing vee in her blouse.

No one had made me feel as seen as Hermione had over the past few months as she had made my vision come to fruition, and it wasn't a stretch to say that she was receptive to the flirtatious banter—she had, after all, initiated it more often than not.

As the moments stretched on, I felt more unsure, but followed up anyway. "Meet me at The White Wyvern?"

"I'd love to. You're welcome to wait here if you'd like and we can go together?" A shy smile broke across her face. "I've only got a few things to wrap up here, and I'll be ready within the hour."

Crossing the room, I found myself settling on the chaise, where the consultation had first occurred all those months ago. I knew that I didn't want this to be our last interaction, which was why I had asked Hermione to the pub.

Sitting here, my brain went into overdrive. _What did this mean for the two of us? Did she feel the same as I had come to feel for her?_ Hoping as much, I lost myself in thought as I perused the books on the small table in front of me.

A short while later, Hermione appeared in front of me, and I took the time to admire her in this relaxed state. Her hair was pulled back in a high bun, and the wild strands along her crown were secured with a black bandana tied precisely off-centre. Her sheer blouse was accented by the dark Muggle denims that hugged her petite frame and accentuated her curves in all the right ways.

"Draco, did you hear me? I'm ready to go when you are."

Snapping to attention, I realised just how much I wanted her. "Lead the way."

Walking down the steps and out into Knockturn Alley, I felt the stares of everyone we passed. Nothing likely more shocking than Hermione Granger, war heroine, with the likes of me, Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, irredeemable in some people's perspective.

When we reached The White Wyvern, I held the door open for her and proceeded to the bar. Once known for its seedier crowd, it had benefited from the transformation of the clientele. It also benefited from the fact that it was owned by none other than Neville Longbottom and, to a lesser extent, his wife and my friend, Pansy.

As we approached the bar, Pansy's eyes widened, and I knew that I would never hear the end of it. She might have recommended the shoppe to me, but there would be no getting out of the scrutiny—grabbing a drink with the artist wasn't part of a regular jaunt to the tattoo parlour.

Collecting our beverages, we made our way over to a secluded booth, and we were able to dive right back into the playful banter from before.

At some point, when our conversation turned to her favourite pieces that she had done, she proceeded to pull my arm over and roll my sleeve up to place my new ink on display.

"Yours for certain… which, there's no use in hiding anymore." She looked up at me through her long, dark lashes before launching into the specific reasons she loved her favourites.

I knew what we had together was shifting from the tentative friendship that had formed in the shoppe into something with a promise for more. Hermione's dainty fingers never moved from the place above my Mark, and I wasn't going to say anything about it anytime soon.

Drinks turned to dinners, which turned to late nights and _more_ than anything I could have ever imagined when I'd first walked into Hermione's shoppe that dreary morning back in May. We spent many early mornings _consulting_ about what I wanted to do next, as I had been itching to get back into her chair.

To my delight, her affirmations were not restricted to the shoppe, and after some discussion surrounding boundaries, they found their way into our regular interactions.

_So good. You feel incredible. That's brilliant, Draco, please don't stop._

I was a fool for my witch, and she always knew just what to say to stoke that fire.

At length, we had spoken about my self-loathing and the original motivations behind the ink that brought us together. I told her how much I hated the scars I was left with after the war and my penchant for carrying my sins with me— _literally._

Thus, I began to tell her about the concept that had been weighing on my mind to see how she might help me bring the idea to life. As I described the dramatic Hogwarts chest piece that spanned the entire front of my torso, her eyes lit up at the prospect of bringing one of her favourite places to life.

The way it was mapped out in my mind, the tattoo would span from my clavicles down over my abdomen and end right above my pubic bone. It was large and would take a lot of collaboration for her to bring the vision I had laid out in my mind to life.

My greatest sin had been letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts our Sixth Year, and I was far from forgetting the way that it made me feel whenever I thought of my actions. That's where this piece came in.

Forgiving didn't mean forgetting, and it was the last real weight that I carried from those dark times.

* * *

One morning a few weeks later, while wrapped up in her sheets, Hermione began to trace the Sectumsempra scars that I was hoping to cover. I could sense her hesitancy and knew that she wanted to talk more about what I had shared with her.

Shifting her closer, I popped one eye open to take her in. "Granger, I can hear that pretty mind from here. Talk to me."

"Well, I've been thinking about your idea and… What if we incorporated your scars into the Hogwarts panorama instead of covering them?" I tensed as she trailed her fingers across my shoulder and down over the last bit on my hip bone. "Hear me out. We can work them in as turrets or staircases and the like."

I hadn't considered _leaving them_ , but her thoughts were valid, and they prodded at my reasoning for doing this in the first place. In the beginning, though insincere, I had set out to learn to love myself through the assistance of body modification, and little did I know, it would also _lead_ me to love.

This path that I found myself winding down as a result was beyond anything that I could have imagined when I'd first walked back into Hermione's life. She had asked me then if I trusted her, and fuck me if I didn't trust her with all I had now.

I was stunned silent as the realisation struck that she _knew me._ She knew my inner motivations and took every opportunity to elevate my visions in the best way that she could.

Kissing her deeply, I rested my forehead against hers and assuaged her uncertainty. "It sounds perfect, love. When do you think that we could start sketching it out?"

Inked skin on display, the sheets pooled at her waist when she shifted to pull something from her bedside table. I smirked to myself as I realised my witch had already begun without me. It struck me then that her caresses over my scar had provided her with the ability to trace my marks onto her charmed tattooing parchment.

We eventually moved from her flat to the shoppe's chaise and spent the day _planning_ the piece's intricacies.

* * *

The time finally came for work on my front piece to begin, and I situated myself in the chair as I had done so many times before.

Hermione scooted close and ran through her routine of prepping the vials and arranging her tattoo gun. "Are you ready?"

I smirked as I asked, "You sure you've done this before?"

At her responding giggle, I kissed her one last time before I laid back for her to place the piece and start laying down the linework.

The session was much more intimate than the previous ones, and I was grateful for how far we'd come, grateful we could share in this together. Moving forward meant leaving my transgressions where they belonged, in the past, and this was the next step in doing so.

_You're doing so well, love. Just like that. We're almost there._

When the session came to a close, Hermione wiped the area clean and gently applied the aftercare salve.

Wrapping my fingers around her wrist, I tugged her to sit astride my hips and grinned wickedly. "Now witch, why don't you come here and show me just how good I've been."

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a tumblr post floating around of a person discovering they had a praise kink from a tattoo session and thus, a plunny was born. Huge shoutouts to [Somandalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somandalicious/pseuds/Somandalicious) for the brilliant book name, [sportivetricks (tamlane)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/pseuds/sportivetricks) for all her encouragement and helping me get inside Draco’s mind, and [dreamsofdramione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugggghead/pseuds/dreamsofdramione) for the banging beta and then some! The saying attributed to Narcissa, “the only way out is through” is originally from Robert Frost’s poem ‘A Servant to Servants”.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed <3


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